of body small, of power regal;

AMPHELICE RICHERD Marquise de la Chambre; ❝ — There is no jewel, be it of never so rich a price, which I set before this jewel; I mean your love;❞

[simena]

CESARE SACCAGGI -  INCIPIT VITA NOVA (detail)

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Task V. Headcanons

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I.

Marcel Dufort watches Boulon leave, feeling a pool of nausea and anger simmer in the pits of his stomach, thick and bitter. He rings the bell for his servant, “Send my daughter to me.” he snaps and swallows hard, his posture stiff and rigid.

Amphelice comes downstairs at once, her mouth dry, and pauses at the grim look directed at her.

“Sit.” her father orders, directing her toward the chair facing his desk. She blinks a little, trying to avoid the full sun in her eyes; her father is silhouetted against it, a large dark figure enthroned in his great chair. 

Her father does not wait for her to speak, but immediately launches into an interrogation. 

“–have you been carrying on a flirtation with Frédéric Boulon behind my back?“

Her heart sinking, Amphelice whispers, “–no.”

“no? you astonish me. not ten minutes ago, Boulon sat in that very chair, assuring me that he had gained your affections.”

She stares at him, her eyes huge, her mouth tight and dry.

“I…” she swallows hard, and her father appraises her coldly, his anger boiling up at the sight of her fisting her skirts. “Have you been meeting with him in secret? have you allowed him liberties?”

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charlesixdevalois‌:

—laughter fell from his lips at the words of his Godmother. she had always been lovely and smart mouthed, but pregnancy made her even more of a nagger as well. “alright, alright…” he mumbled as he hastily closed the door behind him, trying to stifle another wave of laughter that threatened to fall from his lips at the expense of her words. and then he set to work on the fire himself; adding more wood at once and poking the coal.”there are still fruit…” he offered, idly, as he continued to toy with the wood in the fireplace, watching the flames pick up and burning higher now, bathing the room in a golden light. the shadows cascading over her dark curls and the swell in Lis’ belly. the sight made him smile. “how is the little one growing?” he inquired, coming to sit beside her, his hand hovering almost protectively over the baby in her stomach. he was excited to be meeting the little person that grew in Amphelice’s belly; way too much so. yet, it saddened him greatly that as a King he had to send her husband away from her in such difficult times, leaving her to cope with the pregnancy on her own; he very well knew how close the couple is and how easier it would have been for her if she had her husband with her at most times. regardless, they were all there for her, ensuring that she was doing great and taking care of her. and all her family was happy to be meeting this little person in a short time. “I assume you will be naming him Charles, after me, if it is a boy…” he teased, but his voice was clearly not missing a beat, sounding serious.

"Think you I do not know that, Charles? I was not complaining!" said Amphelice, her cheeks crimson with frustration, a spill of pale sunlight shining upon the silk of her hair. "Did I say a word? It is only ... it is so dark here all the time... I long so for the sun and the fruit of summer... And the room is as stuffy as a privy, and the smoke stinks. I want to breathe-- no more!" she sighed, rising restlessly and wandering around the room, her hands clasped at the swell of her belly.  Oh, how weary was she, how anxious! How long had it been since last she had seen her husband, she thought once more. She missed him, terribly so, and she fretted about her lack of information as to what was happening in the South. Charles spoke then, and she tossed her gaze toward him, sighing; he was trying to help her take her mind off things, keep her company, and here she was, bitter, fretful, having not one word of kindness for him; alas, she knew not what to say to him, for she well knew he cared about her well being, but every time she gazed upon his face, she could not help but remember that he was not a child, but the King--that he had sent her Nicholas away; and then--she would laugh with herself for how silly she grew, how selfish; for she knew the commander’s duty lied with the country--the crown-- and how could she ever hate the King for it? How could she ever blame him for wanting to keep country and crown safe? Smiling faintly, she pawed at her stomach, feeling her babe stir, and only said now, “oh, I shall do no such thing, Majesty. I have no love for the name Charles,” her delicate voice a little more playful now, the sense of her child moving within her making her heart leap with joy. Fortunately, as her body became heavier, slower, her bed did not seem so terribly empty, anymore. Her body did not seem so achingly empty all the time. Even her mind seemed to become slower, more attuned to the rhythms of her body than to the world outside. Pregnancy cocooned her, cushioned her, and she welcomed this dullness. She took care of herself and nurtured the baby within her body and tried very hard not to think beyond the moment. “--I loved your brother’s name well. If I am to have a daughter, I should love to name her after him...”  Amphelice smiled up at him with unshadowed affection, doing everything within her power to shelve all bitter thoughts and feelings for now, despite feeling quite unwell for how queasy the smell of the smoke made her feel, a little grimace forming over her brow as she moved closer to the fire, feeling cold all over.

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nicholas-richerd‌:

—the sound of her voice draws him almost involuntarily out of the words spilled over the fine piece of paper, his wife gathering all of his attention at once. lips curl into an effortless smile. he did not hear her coming, if he is being honest, and he is surprised that she has become so good at matters that he is considered an expert. the thought makes him smile even harder; how proud he is of her little talents. “a spoiled man…apparently…” he responds in a teasing manner, watching her as she moves closer, the smile ever so present on his lips. unfaltering. “I will help you…” he notes then, leaning a little closer against her as she comes to stand right behind him, feeling the tension in his shoulder melt away at once at her touch. a soothing, warming gesture. laid across the desk was a piece of paper, a letter from the reverent about receiving better security at a convent north. he turns to face her, arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her closer. “how is our baby?” he asks her in a soft tone, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, head tilting to the side a little. he was beyond excited with their baby, never once felt indifferent to either her or their small bundle of joy because she had given him a daughter and not a son; she had delivered a strong, healthy baby and no matter the gender of the child that was what he most cared about; a mother and baby in good health. and he was a father now, and very much ecstatic about this

These moments are so few and far before.  She covets them fiercely, keeping them close to her heart.  They both have parts that they need to play outside of this room—the Commander more so than she.  Amphelice breathes in deeply, savouring the quiet between them.  Though brief, there is peace; they are calm, and he is here, safe, smiling; oh how she wishes she could always have him home, with her, knowing well no harm can come to him! Many a time has she wished it, feverishly; she has prayed, she has wept, she has sorrowed, but all in vain, for not a thing can ever be done to keep him from duty. A soft, loving smile spreads across her delicate features nevertheless, for he is here, now, and that is all that shall matter for as long as the gods see fit that she has him. “spoiled, is he! but he would not have me go out into the woods alone, would he?” her fingers drum once, in sequence, against his shoulders, squealing with girlish delight as he pulls her into a warm embrace, her curls spilling like spun silk about her fair neck, tickling his chin. “how ever will I fend for myself, monsieur?” she feigns concern, with a certain air of disbelief, knowing full well that between the two of them both are aware of the countless times she has ventured into the woods by herself. She’s only teasing him, of course, her smile hastening at the mention of their babe as she lovingly caresses the crown of his head, her whole face beaming with joy and tenderness; “well enough-- she has slept all the morn, and only woke twice to play and eat--; how sleepy she is all the time! Not at all like her father...Always occupied...” she wonders softly--only half a complaint-- her heart swelling with passionate pride and affection as she stares at him; she is glowing from the inside out as only healthful youth can glow: there is gem-like brightness on her curling hair and in her blue eyes; there is warm red life in her lips; her throat, too, has a breathing whiteness above the differing white of the silk dress she wears which itself seems to wind about her figure and cling down her pale-blue bodice with a tenderness gathered from her own. “Will you not come to see her, my love?” lilts she softly, afterward, smooths his hair from his temple with such delicate care, “I shall wake her and we can take her to the sea; tis hot outside and it would do her well to get some sun, no? --” and then, with a sudden realisation,  “--and think not I have forgotten you have yet to have your lunch! You shall have to abandon your duties for a while, I fear, sir, or I shall be forced to use desperate measures on you.” she informs him in a demanding little voice, then, giving him a look through a mass of thick, black lashes as her fingers continue to toy with his golden hair.  

[grantaere]

Morgan Pendragon in Camelot 1.01

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Her witty sensuality, her dignity, her growing charm,

Nosis, tr. by Josephine Balmer, from Classic Women Poets; “Thaumareta,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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xkennafleming‌:

“Yes?” she turned from looking out the window to face Lis as she spoke, very well remembering the man she spoke about from their visit at the market. Her smile growing as she kept talking, he had been handsome indeed. She walked over to Lis, placing the book she had held in her hands down on a side table that she passed. “Here, let me.” she said as she gently placed a hand over Lis in a way to take over the braiding from her. “Is that so?” she smirked amusingly, lifting her gaze at her through the mirror. “And who did you hear this from?” she asked curiously, she wondered who this source Lis seemed to believe so was. “Not my brother I hope.” she added after in a teasing way, her eyebrow slightly arched.

Amphelice, with flushed cheeks, raised her head delicately, and said "Oh, certainly not! think you I have need of any man to know such things?” she could not help but tease her in a lilting little voice as Kenna’s hands weaved her long, dark curls with seasoned precision, her big blue eyes brimming with light, all bright and liquid. “--Know you not that people love such talks, Kenna? -- I had it by my housemaid's lips, that there is talk of the Lady Fleming and a knight keeping ‘company’...” she paused in shy embarrassment for a second, soft cheeks crimson with heat, and then, “--is it true?” she asked, rationing her gaze toward her friend, half smiling, half squinting at her, for she well knew how little it would take for tongues to start spewing malice, had Kenna truly given cause for gossip, and it would be intensely disagreeable to her, for she could not endure that people should gossip about her in such lewd a manner; not after having endured such talks and gossip of herself. And then there was her cousin—Sebastien—and Amphelice would be loathe to once more have to see him all broken over matters of the heart; oh, would they never learn!     

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@charlesixdevalois

Far to the north, the snow lay deep on the fells, and 'even at midday there was often no more than a twilit fog. On the rare days when the sun shone, the men could get out for some hunting, but the women were imprisoned in the castle, having not much to do, for strong were the storms and little the light fires and candles offered. Amphelice, idly twirling her spindle-- she hated spinning as much as ever, but the room was too dark for any of the finer work that she loved well-- felt an icy draft from the opened door and looked up. She said in mild reproof, "It is too cold for that, Charles, and you have been complaining of the cold all day; now would you turn us all into icicles? Shut that window," She peered at him over the swell of her belly, feeling herself tremble. "You would be better occupied at having someone make up the fire! I have not once been warm since Midsummer." she complained in a sad little voice, feeling her body ache with a sharp numbness, her stomach cramping; oh how, hard was it, she thought-- to be without her husband! How she missed him! Terribly, achingly so! Amphelice had been so edgy lately that there was no speaking to her at all, but it was natural enough, so near her time. "--and food sickens me-- think you you have problems? look at me!" she half sobbed of a sudden, then, tossing her work aside, soft cheeks aflame with heat and colour. "Would it were summer, that I might have some fruit..." 

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     @xkennafleming

“--do you remember that man from the market?” Amphelice-- clothed in sheer silks and with curls unbound-- begins conversationally, as her hands start the intricate process of braiding portions of her dark hair (for she longs to make herself beautiful for when Nicholas comes home to her), her babe fast asleep in her cradle by the fireplace. “the handsome warrior from Italy...” there’s a pause. “I am told he fancies you.” 

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“--have I come at a bad time, dear knight?” Amphelice wonders with feigned innocence as she intrudes upon Nicholas’ space-- bright-eyed and rosy cheeked, a spark of mischief in her eyes, plain as day to see; the corners of her mouth fold upward just so, too, suggesting a further intrigue than she would otherwise verbally confirm, for her entrance had been so noiseless, and her footsteps had been so light and soft and graceful that she stood almost within a few feet of him before he was even aware of her presence. “why, if I recall, a little lark told me he would lend a hand for a bit of gathering--am I to pick all my herbs and flowers myself, monsieur? what sort of man have I made my husband?,” the right-side corner of her mouth-- all sweet and soft and rosy-- slants up.  Amphelice then looks to place her hands on the tight breadth of his shoulders and lean up on her toes, to attempt to peer over him at whatever it is her lord and husband may be up to that have kept him for so many an hour from her and their babe, her expression, softened now, conveying the tender warmth she feels from the inside, out. 

[thistlesource]

Eva Green as Sibylla in Kingdom of Heaven ( 2005 ).

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Amphelice came over to the palace one frosty October night, when moonlit mists were hanging over the harbor and curling like silver ribbons along the seaward glens; for her lord and husband had long now been away to war and battle, and she, heavy with child and stricken with fear, had wearied of sitting home all alone save for her ladies, not knowing what to do with herself for how faint she often grew thinking of the commander, away from her, not knowing where he was or when next she shall have him back home, to her; was she, then, she often thought, to bear their child alone and in fear and homesickness for her lover? Would Mother not leave her homestead and come to her? Weeks had it been now since last she had written to her, and Amphelice worried that her letter had not been received, or worse, that Mother had fallen ill and would not at all be able to travel to be with her. She was near enough to her confinement now, belly swelling smooth and round with her babe, that such thoughts made her half-sick with worry; and although she did what she could to soothe her worries, she had but little appetite, and often had to force herself to eat, for fear of her child growing sick in her womb. Sighing wearily, sat she now before the fire with her sewing, firelight curling about her fair face and sweet, blue eyes like little sparkling rings of gold, her dark curls shining like silk atop the lace of her dress as she dipped her neck forward, bidding her lady bring her her shawl, lest she caught cold for how little warmth her body always seemed to keep.  "My back aches with sitting," she said, peering over the swell of her belly at Kenna who sat near her, a pretty little grimace forming over her delicate brow, "--and that soup my old nurse would have me eat has given me a bellyache after all... "  she sighed, pouting miserably as once more she took to her stitching, hating how stiff her body felt; how cold and restless. No longer had she uttered the words, than her nurse came to her with her shawl and a cup of tea, bidding her drink it as she draped the shawl about her slender shoulders, “I have made you some tea with the hips of roses; it is sour and will taste good to you. I remember how I craved sour things when I was with child-- babes in the womb know what is good for them, and they demand it of us. Drink it, child." commanded she, and, not wanting to quarrel, Amphelice drank obediently, her body demanding the nourishment even as her mind revolted, making a face at the sourness of the drink, but drank it down thirstily nonetheless. "oh, I do not like it," she said, "but how strange, I cannot stop drinking it... Want you some, Kenna?" she offered, forcing herself to smile a little now, not at all liking how she had sat there half the day, sighing and snapping at everyone around her;  Amphelice had been so edgy lately that there was no speaking to her at all. It was natural enough, so near her time, constantly longing for the father of her babe and knowing not when next she’ll see him, but nevertheless, she wanted not to sour their mood any further, and thus, swallowed her bitter thoughts and sipped at her tea, bidding her maid bring the lady Kenna and herself something sweet to nibble on whilst they occupied themselves with needlework, hoping to feel a little better for having the company of such dear a friend as Kenna; for she felt, if left alone amongst strange ladies another second, she should go mad and strangle somebody for how dreadfully fretful and overwhelmed with worry she had been; oh, if only Nicholas would come home!   

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Nature had always been a passion with her; the mountains, the sea.

Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “Mrs Dalloway,” c. 1925 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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 nicholas-richerd:

—nothing could wipe the smile off his face now, as he is holding her close, enjoying the feeling of her pressed hard against him. oh, how has he longed to see her again; see her like this once again, after having been away for months and having missed everything and all that is her. from the lovely sound of her voice, to the way she gazes upon him with those bright blue eyes of hers that shine more than the sun itself. he has missed the feeling of her silky soft dark curls spilling through his fingers as he idly combs them through her locks. how her skin feels against his, underneath his fingertips; all pale and soft, flawless. and holding her now, like this, having her all to himself with no interruptions whatsoever, nothing that could pull him away from her now (not even an uproar against the King), he finds himself in a state of unimaginable glee and bliss. the sound of her sweet, airy laughter and lilting voice make his pulse hasten every single time, and now it is no exception, of course. laughter fell from his lips at her comments, smiling hard as she pulled her to him. kissing her hard again. “let them think what they will, my heart…” he responded, his voice low against her lips. for no matter how he may try it is nearly impossible a task to pry himself away from her, even for a short moment. he had suffered enough through it, now he cares for nothing but to hold and touch her, kiss her a million of times, over and over again. hands pouring over her curves, he looked up at her, meeting her lovely blue eyes, adorned by those dark, long lashes. how his heart adores the very thought of her! he is so beyond delighted to be able to hold her again! and it only made for his heart to beat faster at the way she plants a thousand of kisses all over his face, delighted and joyful herself. however, there is something different about her; a different kind of glow. not that she has not always been beautiful, that would be a lie to claim, but she appears different, too, something he cannot put his finger on quite yet. the words she spoke made him curious as to what she is hinting at, and then, for a very brief moment, he stopped. breath caught in his throat; could it be…? a smile formed on his lips, bright and genuine, and though he did not want to get ahead of himself, he could hardly help the way the feeling blossomed inside of him, the pure, raw excitement at the prospect of what he thought that her words meant. “you are not saying…” he begun, and though his words do suggest a doubt, the smile that so easily formed on his lips does not. never had he thought of it before so intently, but now that he so strongly believes that this is going to be her gift to him, he cannot help how happy he is feeling. and he knows his wife far too well to notice the subtle changes about her; on her body and that different glow she has about her. like she is walking wrapped up in a golden light —which is nothing new, but it is just a different kind of light. and the prospect of him becoming a father is exciting to him; a father to their baby. a baby who’s mother he adores beyond any words could ever effectively describe and beyond any human comprehension. there is not a thing he wouldn’t do for this woman and he only regrets not having had more time with her, with all his work before and all the work that came after their wedding. how the uprisings and uproars started soon after their honeymoon. but he also could not be happier in life than he is with her. no woman had ever drawn his interest and he had never loved anyone before her, even planned on remaining unwed to be better focused on his duties. life with her is beautiful, though; a gift to him from her, she is a treasure that he never wishes to lose, ever, and plans on fully and entirely dedicating whatever time he has to her. loyal and faithful and in love, for life. forever, if he can. and if his assumptions are to be confirmed by her, to their baby too; though deep down in his heart he already knows that he will always choose her first. always. and as for that there is not a single ounce of doubt in his heart. if for some reason he ever had to make a choice between them, he would choose her. for in his life she is the most important person. she is the sole reason why he has come to find such true, deep and raw happiness and things that left him uninterested before, and even the simplest thing is a joy with her. “do tell me, my heart!” he prompted her, longing to hear it from her lips, to be sure that they will be having their first child together! and to know how she fairs, have all the time to worry about whether she is eating right and resting properly, even more than he did before, and tease her about being a mom. the anticipation nearly killing him, but still he remained, soothing his hands down the length of her back, a bright smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

Midnight-blue eyes opened and looked at him with a glint of amusement. She felt the hardness of his fingers as they caressed her skin, her waist, the silk of her curls. They were hard and callused, but their touch was the touch of a lover, and oh, how she loved to be touched by him so, how she hungered for it! How long had she now waited for him to come home to her; endless nights fretting herself to death at the thought of her lord and husband away from her to war and battle, cold and in harm’s way, maddened with her worry of him, not knowing what to do with herself; now, she clung to him, soft and tender, a delicate little thing in his arms, seeking his tender warmth, the sweetness of his embraces that was to her the very treasure of her heart, starving for it;  she gazed upon him now, and bethought herself: What have I done to deserve that God should have given me Nicholas?, every inch of her skin prickling with such sensations as she had never before felt, knowing that soon she would give to him that that no other woman had ever given him---and the thought made her shake with passions so high and intense, she could barely bear to draw breath; he spoke, and she listened, tremulous with her delight, ran her forefinger along his bearded cheek, tracing the high sharp bone in a light, yet utterly possessive caress. She stared up into eyes that were suddenly narrowed and intent, sparkling with affection so wild and deep, it made her quiver, and when he pulled her closer, she giggled, sensing his excitement as though it was her very own, the pulse of the moment, all sweet and gentle and intimate beyond words. Oh, never, never before in her life had she felt this way, she thought; she could hardly believe that so great a good fortune could have befallen her, and in the moments that followed she felt herself tremble, her heart overflowing at the thought of telling him; the sight of him bright and smiling like that-- big and sweet and happy; the late-afternoon sun shone behind his head like a heavenly halo, and she made a little soft sound, half air, half a gasp, clinging to his shoulders, fiercely, lovingly. Her translucent skin was flushed with rose from the heat of the moment, the pounding of her heart. She bent her delicate little neck and kissed his warm lips, hard, whispered breathlessly, “--Shall I tell you, monsieur? Think you you have earned it?” and now her silky voice was low and coy and liquid with sentiment, her pulse racing through her veins as she teased him slyly. And then, “--Shall it make you happy, my darling heart?” she murmured, sweeter, gentler, melting at the thought of his reaction--she rubbed her nose to his, pressing herself to him as hard as woman can hold onto man, needing him closer; closer--; and then his shoulders were coming over hers and he was sliding her down toward the center of the bed, so that she lay on her back under him, her long hair spread out above her head like a long ebony ribbon, and she gasped once more, dizzied with happiness, overjoyed, her face glowing; her voice was passionate, her beautiful skin flushed with color. She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, infinitely delighted, absolutely impatient to share her greatest joy with him. It was all beyond belief! She took a little breath, felt herself swoon, and then; at long last, “--I am with child!” she smiled, a warm, joyful grin, and felt her heart leap within her bosom, her chest swelling with emotion. Her face was almost like the face of a child, smooth and radiant with happiness,  and the tender feeling that had been roused in her glittered prettily in her big blue eyes as she sought in his face signs of the impression her news were making on him, her own grin hastening as she laid there, rosy faced and breathless, half delirious with volcanic sentiments she had never before felt. Her loose hair had fallen forward and was hanging down now, enveloping him in a lavender-scented curtain of soft black silk, and she squealed sweetly, felt the heat bloom rapidly in both of her cheeks as she exhaled, touched her delicate little nose to the warmth of his cheek, not at all able to bear the magnitude of her feelings, “oh, my love...” she gasped, trembling harder now, “oh, I can scarcely breathe for how happy I am, Nicholas! -- I am to make you a Father!” she laughed, not knowing what to do with herself.  A sudden feeling of incomparable bliss crept over her as she thought of the wild joys and wilder days that were in store for them, and breathlessly, she sought for his hand, squeezing it tightly, pretty little face crinkling with laughter. These were thrilling thoughts, and wound up her feelings to the highest point of ecstasy. Her heat throbbed violently, and her thoughts would not rest on anything. She felt that this very moment, would be a turning point in her life, and out of breath, laid she there, trembling, as though half in a dream, waiting for him to say something.